Sophie Thighsworth here for you,
with the Lunchtime News from the PBC.
with the Lunchtime News from the PBC.
Yes and it's all about sport, today, so over to our sports correspondent Jayne Tits,
Jayne, a great night for the business.
Yes, thanks, Sophie and that's right, a truly great night for the business, especially for Leicester, is it Leicester, where IS that, by the way, is it up North, somewhere? In the Lake District? Sounds Lake Districty, doesn't it. Me and my partner love it, there, Ellesmere Port and Port Sunlight, places like that, you can just see Wandsworth, that poet chap, in your mind's eye. Go there whenever we can slip away, you know how it is, Sophs, busy lives, busy schedule.....
Sorry, Jayne. Just have to stop you there for a moment, for this, just in from our Diplomatic Editor Emeritus, John Wotsisname, that fat old geezer, yes, with the young wife, whaddaretheylike these old hacks, eh? John, in Beijing, what's your take on all this?
Well, journalists with some seniority, if I might say so, Sophie, rather than airheads
have often spoken of China as a sleeping dragon and tonight just may be the night when the dragon has awoken. This from the Chinese Foreign Minister, Bang-yo Head, speaking earlier.
have often spoken of China as a sleeping dragon and tonight just may be the night when the dragon has awoken. This from the Chinese Foreign Minister, Bang-yo Head, speaking earlier.
Herro, Joh' an' herro Engrish viewa on PBC. How you ah doing? But first up is very bad news for both country. Engrish people wa' wah?
OK, can have wah. Is like Confucius say, Aw we ah sayi', is gi' wah a chance.
An' Engrish ferra,
Mah Serraby, no' win da Snookah, was crear wi' for Chinee boy, Ding-Dong.
Was no' propah game, was ah shit. Was duckin' ah fuckin' divin' from stah to finish. Mah Serraby is dirty playah an' good for fuck aw.
I mean, Joh', Peopah Republic Chin-ah like Ronnie O, is good playah.
I mean, Joh', Peopah Republic Chin-ah like Ronnie O, is good playah.
An' Stevah Henry, is good playah, excep' is Tribesman.
But Serraby is jus fucki' dog, eh, is play snookah like fucki' dog.
Need burret, chop-chop, in back of neck
an' sen' bill to Meestah Barry Hearne.
Yes, an' Meesta Steve Davi'.
An' also to Miss Hazah Mouth.
Wha' fucki' happen in Engran', anyway, wi' stupid totty in charge of Snookah show? No' happen in China, home of world Snookah.
Stupid totty, is fucki' rubbish.
An' anyway is fucki' ugry, no' rike sexy Chinee lady.
Chinee snookah fan mad as arseholes,
An' anyway is fucki' ugry, no' rike sexy Chinee lady.
Chinee snookah fan mad as arseholes,
Engrish people must caw fou' and award cup to Ding-Dong or else is wah. Chinee army can swah Engran' like moth.
Chinee army huge,
Crucible Theatre tiny
Best Engrish snookah bloke remembah,
Hokay?
Can send nuke, easy, like piece oh piss, on Sheffiel'.
Well, yes, and the honourable Mr Bang-yo makes a serious point, we all do work for China, now, but perhaps when he studies the detail of our proposed sell-off of Engrish, I mean English council houses to Chinese investors he may well think again. And as well as buttering up the Chinese, themselves, we also, by selling-off to the Chinese any possibility of young people, or indeed anyone, securing affordable housing we, with one step, place the feet of all of our people on the housing scaffold, I mean gallows, no, I mean ladder, course I do. Which can only be good for all of us. The building societies or banks or whatever the Shylocks are calling themselves - and by that I am definitely not being anti-wossaname - will continue over a lifetime to charge people two or three times what their homes were worth, not that they were worth a fraction of what they paid for them in the first place but which they'll have to sell to pay for their care in old age, yes, to Mr Osborne's friends who will then own the NHS, Chinese, American, it doesn't matter, just as long as we stay in the EU and British wages stay depressed, any foreign ontraprenooers can buy whatever they want.
No, no, it simply doesn't matter that it's not Mr Osborne's to sell.
If it belongs, as you say, to the people, then clearly it belongs to this Conservative govament. And when I say buy, of course, I don't mean that the future wealth creators would buy in the sense of paying what the public service or public property is worth. Gosh, no, they'll only buy the NHS and the schools if we give them away virtually for nothing. Well, for nothing, actually. Fuck all. That's the point of Conservatism, isn't it. People whose parents have put a bit aside for them, we simply have to look after each other. And quite frankly, this idea of the public owning anything whatsoever, apart from a very large debt, is an idea unfit for the twentieth century. Twenty-first century? Alright, if you say so.
But no, much has been made, unfairly, in my view of the remarks made by my President, last week, when he said the Special Relationship depended on our doing what he tells us. Some people have considered this to be unfair. But what they don't actually understand is that America hates us, always has. That is the Special Relationship. They hate us, they sabotage everything we try to do, especially our aerospace industry, they insist that we have to buy their weapons and then don't allow us to use them. I mean, Concorde, you remember Concorde, Concorde was a super fast airliner, went jolly quickly, several hundred miles an hour, and the Yanks wouldn't let us fly it over their land, airspace, they call it; too noisy, they said. And so it never made any money. Suez, when Mr Eden wanted to invade Suez - or wherever it was - Egypt? The Falklands? - well, the Americans wouldn't let him. The Comet Four, a great aircraft, sabotaged by Boeing and Lockheed. So when my good friend and master, Umback Barama, says Britain would be at the back of the trade-deal queue, he's not strictly accurate, we've always been at the back of the trade-deal queue. And I mean, many of them, the Yanks, wanted Hitler to win the First World War, or the Second, whichever it was - they were both against Japan, that's the main thing. The Lease-Lend arrangement, where they charged us a fortune for some rusty old death-trap ships, well, that crippled us for decades after the war, whenever that was, and we only paid it all off when Mr Snot was in charge, not that he was, really, not proply, like I am in charge of my party.
You sure, boy?
So, the Americans hate Britain. But then so do we, in parliament, particularly, we hate it with a passion. And that's why we all want you to vote to stay in Europe. I mean, British courts, British health and safety regulators, a British parliament, who wants all that, in this day and age?
So you see President Umbacko is speaking the truth. Britain, as a sovereign nation is at the back of everyone's trade-deal queue, especially in the British house of commons. If the Chinese can't do it for us, say, with energy, the French will; if the French can't, the Indians will, and if it's something the Britsh can't do, say health or education or housing or transport or ships or heavy engineering, there is simply no end of countries which the govament would rather deal with than provide employment for British trade unions, who, lessbeclear, have ruined the country for over a century. And Mr Junky George is acting entirely proply in making sure that whichever skilled jobs do arise, we send them overseas.
And this is why people simply must Conservative on Thursday. Or we might have to put your taxes up, depriving you of the choice of how to spend your own money, even though we do it all the time and just don't tell you.
That was our European Regional Manager there, and the PBC, I should remind viewers, is absolutely non-partisan over the question of Brexit, although with every programme we produce we find more and more reasons to remain in the EU, obviously. But back to John Simpson; John, do you think the Chinese will really go to war over the World Snooker Championship?
Well, Sophie, after scrutinisng the situation in the East for most of my adult life, if I may say so, and not just for five minutes, they're nothing if not inscrutable, the Chinese. I mean, one has to say that they have a point. It was a shitty game, watching Mark Selby is like having teeth extracted without anaesthetic whilst squatting on the bog with arse-ripping constipation, isn't it. I mean, Sophie, even the other players hate the sight of him, don't they, he's like a jackal, gnawing at a wounded hyena. Nothing beautiful about Selby, even his name sounds like a by-pass. So if the Chinks march on the Crucible and put Sheffield to the torch who could blame them? And now back to you in the studio.
That was John Simpson there for us, yes,
the Dave Attenborough of Diplomacy on the PBC.
That was John Simpson there for us, yes,
the Dave Attenborough of Diplomacy on the PBC.
And Jayne Tits is still with us and I see she has been joined by Sir Gary Lineker, football pundit best known for his championing of fat-laden, salty snacks for children. Yes, he must be a complete cunt, mustn't he?
I'd just like to say that it is a great honour for me to be on the PBC on this night of all nights. I mean, you coodena dreamed this one up, not if you was off your head on monosodium glutomate.
Which, I must declare an interest, is my mission for all the children of Engrand, I mean England. To be, that is, to be off their little heads on MSG.
No, it's the stuff that dreams're made of, Jayne, Leicester, the home of potato crisps, winning not only the World Cup but also the Snooker on the telly. I used to dream of this moment when I was kicking a crisp bag round the streets of Leicester. Pausing only to build up my health and strength with a packet or three of Walkers Cheese'n'Onion.
Oh, well played, Sir Gary. A diet of Coke and crisps is the very thing to unleash the potential of our young people.
And don't forget, as we used to say at Eton, it doesn't matter how you play the game, it's whether you win or lose that counts. Hope you've got all your crisp money somewhere nice and funny, I mean sunny, British Virgin Isles, is what we swear by in my family. And quite proply, too, in my judgement.
But it's right, Jayne, now my dream's come true. And I'm sure the whole city will be celebrating with a few bags each of Golden Wonder. It is Golden Wonder I work for, isn't it? Only sometimes I forget. Yes, course it is, the Premiership champions of salty, greasy, potato snacks for kids.
No, it's the stuff that dreams're made of, Jayne, Leicester, the home of potato crisps, winning not only the World Cup but also the Snooker on the telly. I used to dream of this moment when I was kicking a crisp bag round the streets of Leicester. Pausing only to build up my health and strength with a packet or three of Walkers Cheese'n'Onion.
Oh, well played, Sir Gary. A diet of Coke and crisps is the very thing to unleash the potential of our young people.
And don't forget, as we used to say at Eton, it doesn't matter how you play the game, it's whether you win or lose that counts. Hope you've got all your crisp money somewhere nice and funny, I mean sunny, British Virgin Isles, is what we swear by in my family. And quite proply, too, in my judgement.
But it's right, Jayne, now my dream's come true. And I'm sure the whole city will be celebrating with a few bags each of Golden Wonder. It is Golden Wonder I work for, isn't it? Only sometimes I forget. Yes, course it is, the Premiership champions of salty, greasy, potato snacks for kids.
That was Sir Gary Crisps, there, for us.
And we've just heard that two prominent Leicesterites have issued a statement on this day of dual clebration. Speaking from their million pounds home in the county, bought for them by well-wishers, Drs Gerry and Cilla McCann issued the following statement:
On this momentous night we would just like to remind ordinary Leicester people that they may have won the cup and the snooker but our reputation is still missing. We know that we have sued the arse off everyone who queries our own, one true version of events, in which we both behaved quite properly, as you would expect from doctors and Portugeezer police sold our child to slave traffickers but some people still cling to the, frankly, unhelpful view that we were in some way amiss in leaving our child, Wotsername, alone and unprotected in a strange apartment in a strange country while we slipped out for drinks with some very highly-esteemed professional colleagues. Some people, further, cling to the idea that when we discovered our child missing we should have immediately called the cops, instead of 'phoning home to secure the services of a PR company and reporting to the PBC that our child had been abducted. Yet more people think, quite improperly, that we should have answered any reasonable questions put to us by the police. Yes, it is true that we recently lost a libel case against a Portugeezer in the Portugese courts, where the judges ruled that people can say what they want. This is clerarly not the case, people may not say what they want, well, not about us, anyway, and we expect the British govament to intervene at the highest level to get this verdict overturned, with costs and damages awarded to us, and some people, people who didn't actually leave little Wotsername unattended, be sent to jail. We have another book coming out shortly and will be touring the world's TeeVee studios to promote it in the near future. So, on this night of some minor importance to our fellow Leicesterians, we wish them well in their celebrations but ask them to remember that we are the real victims, here. As well as the real champions of Leicester.
(both sing)
Well, yes, if I can just come in, here. If I - or we, me and the First Lady - if we were were to, not that we ever would, mislay our child, in the 'pub, f'rinstance, the very first thing that I would do, rather like Cilla and wotsisname - a Scotchman, isn't he, yes, characteristically forbidding and dour, Dr Gerry, I wonder if he supports the Tribesmen, I expect he does, bitching and griping and whining this last decade, like he was Ms Moustache, who, has anyone else noticed, come to resemble our own, late Maggie-Maggie- Maggie,
Empress of Grievance.
Queen Boudicca.
Yes, I know, people do warn that we can become the thing we hate and there is a startilng sartorial resemblance, if nothing else, between Ms Moustache and the Whisky Maggie. Just saying.
And they do both appeal to the, what shall we say, to the instincts of the aggrieved ruffian.
Flag-waving, tub-thumping,
jingoistic, rabble rousing
in place of reasoned political argument;
adolescent hatred and bile as a political raison d'etre.
No, I daresay she won't like me saying that, comparing her to Thatcher. But she doesn't much like anyone who doesn't agree with her RobRoy schtick.
Schhh, I wouldn't mention the oil price slump to her. Or the EU referendum, she'd shit a brick trying to explain that one, better together with Europe, not better together with Engran' I mean England
But no the very first thing I would do, too, having mislaid a child is speak to my press office. Yes, someone like Mr Coulson, someone who could explain to the public that it wasn't actually a case of me forgetting all about my child, which it was, but it was more a case of the Portuguese police not doing their jobs proply. And we'll sue anyone who says otherwise. And we all know what they're like, don't we, the Portugeezers, thanks to the Met, who have investigated ten million pounds worth over there and not made a single arrest. still, some jolly wonderful public servants will have enjoyed a nice break in the Sun. Only not as many, I trust, as me and the First Lady. And like everybody else, apart from their kid, of course, Little Miss Wotsername, they should be jolly grateful to Dr and Mrs Moneybags.
Yes, I know, people do warn that we can become the thing we hate and there is a startilng sartorial resemblance, if nothing else, between Ms Moustache and the Whisky Maggie. Just saying.
And they do both appeal to the, what shall we say, to the instincts of the aggrieved ruffian.
jingoistic, rabble rousing
adolescent hatred and bile as a political raison d'etre.
No, I daresay she won't like me saying that, comparing her to Thatcher. But she doesn't much like anyone who doesn't agree with her RobRoy schtick.
Schhh, I wouldn't mention the oil price slump to her. Or the EU referendum, she'd shit a brick trying to explain that one, better together with Europe, not better together with Engran' I mean England
But no the very first thing I would do, too, having mislaid a child is speak to my press office. Yes, someone like Mr Coulson, someone who could explain to the public that it wasn't actually a case of me forgetting all about my child, which it was, but it was more a case of the Portuguese police not doing their jobs proply. And we'll sue anyone who says otherwise. And we all know what they're like, don't we, the Portugeezers, thanks to the Met, who have investigated ten million pounds worth over there and not made a single arrest. still, some jolly wonderful public servants will have enjoyed a nice break in the Sun. Only not as many, I trust, as me and the First Lady. And like everybody else, apart from their kid, of course, Little Miss Wotsername, they should be jolly grateful to Dr and Mrs Moneybags.
But Leicester, lessbeclear, it is magnificent news,
the Impossible Dream, the First Lady and I are delighted, both of us,
the Impossible Dream, the First Lady and I are delighted, both of us,
and I am thrilled that all my Saturdays spent shouting on the terraces up there have finally paid off. Just goes to show, this success, that what with Leicester being known as the Islamabad of the West and nobody having any jobs, only down the cash'n'carry or selling dusty tomatoes off the pavement, why we need to stay in the EU. I mean, it was largely immigrant players who won, wasn't it? A very clear message there, I think, that if people want to win football competitions we must stay firmly in the EU. Yes, and vote Conservative on Thursday. For a better Europe.
That was him, again, the Brussels' TeaBoy.
And in Newsnight, tonight, the big story of the day. Evan Davies will be asking Should anyone vote for Mr Corbyn's filhty Nazi party in Thursday's elections or are we a modern, compassionate, anti-racist nation which would be better represented by a different Labour party leader. Or preferably no opposition at all. Pretty much what we have, now, anyway. Join Evan later.
37 comments:
Lesta, good grief, what a dump. You'd have to have a heart of stone.
As ever, Mr I, your observations appear to be sound - leastways my own theodolite concurs - albeit that my rib cage was subjected to considerable pressure whilst reviewing and testing your findings. I see that you return to the McCann business again - I wonder about that too... Interesting how much effort is being put into silencing and discrediting the retired Portugeuse Detective bloke who is, yet again, trying to get his account of events published (OK he stands to make some money out of it but I wonder whether that is what is really motivating him...). Keep buggering on, Mr I - you do it well - very, very well in fact.
Snooker btw is a much underestimated to play - and I am C++ good as it happens - but you wouldn't watch it on the telly. The next time you find yourself in an Orcadian pub, Mr Ishmael, try to hit the white ball to within an inch or two, of where you want. That's hard! Then think about doing it on a table of four times that acreage and after clattering all sorts of things in very precise directions first. And then don't make a mistake for 30 shots in a row. (One plays into a target triangle btw. A proper player showed me but it still didn't help.) Those blokes have phenomenal (but otherwise useless) skill. But it is unwatchable tedium on the telly. Have I shared about yon mate's S London local which always has the darts on a great big telly - whatever time of the day or week or year you step in? It must be some wild cosmic joke. Perhaps it's being screened from Leicester?
In other news, El Donaldo has surely secured the nomination now. Good grief. If he stood for Pope, he'd win it. And Ted Cruz's dad loaded Oswald's rifle! Whoudda thunk it! God Bless America. Go Cubs!
Jeez, is Ted quitting? Mind, he is crazier than Donnny.
Used to like snooker when I lived oop north. Slept through the first televised 147 in a world championship (Cliff Thorburn) - its was the Theakstons Special on draught at the Crucible that did it, plus Thorburn was so slooow. Saw big Bill Werbeniuk split his pants showing his yellow undies, then he coolly took the shot, then asked the crowd if anyone had a needle and thread - cue applause and laughter. Those were the days.
Saw Alex Higgins live in the crucible - it was quite electric.
I have a cue made by John Spenser, left to me by my wife's father. Echo Mr Mongoose - its bloody hard.
The geometry, the ballistics and the dexterity involved have always seemed, to me, like a branch of the dark arts and I feel belittled in some way by even a mediocre player, most of them seem like sinister engineers, only the odd one, like Ronnie O, displaying artistry, also. Selby, with his hour-long, grinding frames, just irritates, like Andy Murray; for them, winning is paramount, that's OK, it's their living but it is horrid to watch. It is as though the Barry Hearne domination of snooker has created, in Selby, a Frankenstein and seen the elbowing-out of erratic genius like Higgins by grimy automata. Hour-long frames of attrition, well, that ain't cricket.
Hard, indeed, mr mongoose, to warm to Leicester. I lived, once, in Ashby de la Zouch but that was proper county life, Saturday visits to Leicester, even then, were a descent into an uneasy, polyglot maelstrom, the textiles gone, the cash'n'carry rampant. I suppose such observations would have me expelled from the Labour party. It is still a pretty county, I think, me duck, Charnwood Forest, Loughborough, all the Norman Magnas and Parvas, little market towns, like Lutterworth but Oh, have mercy, I cry, city.
I don't think, mr sg, that I could ever capture the darkness that is the McCanns; that is their bleak triumph, made inseparable, now, by Infamy. I don't align myself with the Justice4Madeleine campaigners who beset Gerry'n'Cilla but I don't mind them. Neither do I have the slightest idea what happened to the child but on the basis of the uncontested facts this pair have and continue to behave questionably and distastefully. Who could look at them for a moment and think otherwise?
The Portuguese cop awaits the decision of an even higher court - unless that was bluster by Team Gerry'n'Cilla - and I wish him well.
He does prompt a hurricane of conflict in my mind, the Donald but only until I recall the other crazies and crooks who've been in the White House, especially the Clintons, whose return would be both apocalyptic and demonic. And as mr tdg saud a while back, Donald is so quintessentially American. I read that Sanders still thinks he has a shout, whether Uncle Sam's mefia will let it be heard is another matter, in which case, C'mon the old, rich bald guy, Donald. I did try to contribute a hundred bucks to Sanders' campaign but his people declined donations from overseas. How so very unHillary.
Is it not on the telly, Down There, mr mike, the snooker? We only see the one Aussie player, here, Neil somebody, a right uncouth, with suspiciously blonde hair, but surely there is a snooker following, it is a WASP. preoccupation, I would've thought, among the convict population. A fuck of a place, that Australia, the electrical media bring us the adventures of Aussie roadtrain drivers, hauling huge infrastructure items through dust and 'roos, over thousands of kilometres, just making it with a coupla minutes to spare and Ray Mears is there, presently, in some watery shithole populated by saltwater crocs, huge big bastards about a hundred feet long which just flost around, waiting to snap-up the unwary boater. Fuck me, I wouldn't even want to be on the same continent as those eviltudes,mbeen around since the dinosaurs, they have, so they know what's what - lazing about, murdering folk and eating them, repeat through Eternity. Arnhemland, it's called, this place of monsters. Don't go walking Pug there.
Sadly, Mr I, we don't get such pleasures down here, as the wold snooker championship. I'm still reminiscing whispering Ted Lowe. Not since "steady Eddie" Charlton has there been an Aussie snooker superstar.
All you say about the land down here is true: its bigger, bolder, more colourful, more dangerous than you can imagine - and that's before you venture out bush.
That's why we say its God's Country.
Soon to be Engrand if not already…how do you say Scotland in Chinese? Doesn’t matter they think we’re engrish anyway…and the yanks do too.
Probably the govamnets biggest crime this century that one. Selling off decent jobs then the actual infrastructure.
I couldn’t tell you where Leicester, is either.
Isn’t the Gerry n Cilla show simply put in front of us to boggle the mind? If you told their story to a visitor from another planet they think…what the fuck…?
I have to turn off when Hazel O’Irvine talks. She HAS to ACCENTUATE every SECOND word. Voice like a foghorn.
She gives me a sore arse, too, Hazel. She is there merely to prompt comments from Steve or Steven or Dennis or John - something without which, incidentally, I find Davies mesmerising, y'know, when he gets caught-up in a match commentary - so to that extent she is bound to be stagey but there is something of the haemorrhoid about her. Maybe that's it, she just can't speak properly. I have often remarked to mrs ishmael that Hazel has three or four too many teeth. She obviously irritated the Chinese dignitary, too, Mr Bang-yo Head.
It does look magnificent, mr mike. A daughter backpacked there for a year and her 'photos were breathtaking. This rugged bloke stuff, on the telly, though - Mears was looking at cave art as well as crocs - is, well, awesome, in the sense of awesome. And if I had to do it all over again, I'd do it all over Australia.
But the seals are back, my daffodil meadow thickens and soon the blossom will be here and the Midnight Sun.
We must take it where we find it, Life, in its chronic pattern, before she blows us away, like dust.
I dunno the whys, mr doug, of the McCann horror, just that there are connections to Power, cross-party Power, Snotty, HamFace and BoJo all colluding, ten million pounds of Met money, for what?
Haven’t watched the snooker for years but watched a little bit of this years..waiting for some paint to dry kind of loose end day and too fucking cold outside to do the garden.
Stevens commentary was a revelation..Always had a rabbit caught in the headlights look about him when he was a kid…and he was just a kid when he put his opponents to the sword regularly for years.
Kinda let you into what was going on in his head at the table all those years ago…”Yeah needs to exploit his opponents forehand backfoot overloop if he wants to destroy the fuckers confidence”.
The Gerry n’ Cilla show has the one side of the story that we are told via the British Meedja and there’s another that we’re not privy to. I believe the Portugeuse police blokes first book is unavailable in the UK. (I might check that later) And likely his current one only.
If he’s in it for the money? Maybe so or maybe he just wants the truth out in crusader fashion. Maybe the British meedja are messing with the wrong guy…he lost his job after all.. Maybe he’s a bit like all of us in this small area of the blogosphere…Ishmalea..Just give us the fucking truth.
Yes, that's right, about SD, it was as though he was reliving his excitement of years ago, very genuinely. I simply cannot abide the soccer pundits, they are dull and stupid, every last one of them, vain, clodhopping nincompoops, and I don't care for football, anyway; Steve Davies, though, he was a revelation.
Let us know about that book, it probably is banned. One would have expected his success in the appeal court to be all across the telegraph, but it wasn't.
Actually I meant Steven Hendry the spotty kid..when he arrived on the scene…but the idea applies to both and it would be hard to determine which would be the more frightening prospect to face as their opponent.
They were both masters of their universe in their respective times and both with a barely concealed killer instinct that you get a snippet of insight into when they’re commentating. And in fact the younger Steve especially.
Mr Ishmael, I know I intended to send you a few photos of some furniture that you were (going to be) kind enough to advise on bringing out a lustre on. But the house sale we’d intended fell through and the stuff…most of it…is still in storage. I’ll see what happens during the rest of the year.
I’ll take a look see if that book. ‘The truth of the lie’ I think it’s called.
Never mind, another house will present itself. I advertised to find mine and received many replies, people like myself, absolutely pissed off with thieving useless bastard Scottish estate agent-criminals, pure vermin, Scottish lawyers.
I'd hang them all and feed their tripes to the dogs, no wonder the country's fucked, run by snooty, jumped-up con-artists, to whom the only respectablr approach is a good, hard, unhesitating punch in the face.
Almost the entire, vile Scottish legal cabal are available for massacre every weekday at 5pm in the Oxford Bar, Edinburgh. And if Donald gets the big buttons, we may see some action after the recent shennanigans.
Ah yes lawyers. Thoosands for the conveyancing and tens of thoosands for the divorce. And what did they do that I couldn’t have done? Pore over some title deeds and have their secretary copy and paste some formalities?
Mind you if I could get away with typing a new name onto an old word doc and charging 25 quid a pop….nah probably not.
Estate agents? They have folk who they sell for and they have folk who do the buying. Theirs is a business that accommodates both parties. They’re clients, but still estate agents are intent on shafting both.
We we’re at the ceiling of what we were prepared to pay for a house that, ostensibly, was from the fifties in terms of up to datedness. No double glazing, no gas supply, insulation etc….right beside the railway. That stuff is ok and can be remedied…but I didn’t fancy removing the 2 by three slabs that completely covered the back garden. Each and every one of which, the owner proudly announced had 2 inches of concrete holding them down.
He took a better offer fuck 'im.
The book can be read online. So Mr Amaral can’t be making much money from it.
Thanks, I'll have a look at that. They are one and the same, here, lawyers and estate agents and they charge you whether they sell or not, them being such special people.
You should find somewhere more congenial, mr mongoose, surely there's somewhere which serves only the law abiding, in a big place like Sturgeonburgh.
I'm away to Gretna, at the end of the month, for a Mystery Martiage and then across the Pennines to York, for mrs woar's Mystery Plays. Much as I truly believe Scotland to be the best part of England it will be good to breath English air, hear English voices in English buildings.
The Tribesmen have been truly offensive to Mr Trump, his vengeance, if he can be arsed, is reason enough to wish him luck.
I try not to go into there at all, Mr I. They are all so happy and pleased with themselves having slithered and scrambled through theft and corruption to the top of the shortest greasy pole in Christendom. Kings of the World that is McHeaven. Sadly it is a certain colleagues favourite. Basking in reflected McGlory. Too horrible. (The Bow Bar is the best pub in Edinburgh and my little room when I stay there is right the fuck next door to it.)
I am ailing from hayfever and cleaning-out-the-workshop-wooddust today and unable to think clearly and so I have abandoned work, and am sat clicking through the news channels and it is the same the world over. I had barely decided from whom to withhold my spoiled ballot paper next time - Eton-braying Cameroon or Geography teacher fascist Jezster, I cannot decide. And now we have all the wisdom of the Democratic Party of the richest and most powerful nation the earth has ever seen (so far, that is) and all they can come up with is "We can't let him become president". It is a bit like leaving the EU and having the very birds of the air fall dead from the wing. Why, Hillary Dearest, should we vote for you? Just a single good idea and the deal is sealed. But no: bread circuses and something to fear. Just as Orwell meant to say before he ran off to be a story-teller.
Ho hum. The obvious ruse for the Donald is to wait, wait, and wait and then fuck them all over by asking Bernie to be his running mate. Burn it all down and start over. Hillaroo would die a fearfully sclerotic death. Bill too. Right then and there they'd fall down dead from shock and dismay. Was it all for this?
I have thought the same myself, mr mongoose, Trump and Bernie, that would certainly be a turd in Hillary's mouth, on which she'd choke and choke and choke. She, for her part, could VeeP the fragrant Chelle Obama and have Obama in the Second genullman slot. BothClintons and both Obamas plundering the nation like Al Capone on coke. A mad, vengeful, kleptomaniac lesbian, owned by the Saudis and God knows who else, an ageing predatory abuser with heart problems and two worthless Uncle Toms. And I betcha we'd see BananaMan, the Rescue Guy in there, somewhere, Miliband, Rimmer in Chief to the whole rotten quartet, the White House's limey salad dresser. Wonder if Bruce Springsteen will play at the inauguration, and we know that Bob Dylan would, whoever the fuck the president is.
It is certainly a spectacle, the mad old crone and the redneck, both improbably wooing tne greatest nation on Earth, in history, the last great hope for mankind.
God knows how many deities we may need to invoke in this situation Mr I. Still the 'wall' just got ten miles closer! Mexican construction industry futures are looking ever brighter...
I'm looking forward to this. If Trump is the real deal (my jury's still out) then he will go at Hillary with a vengeance. And there's a lot of shit he can fling. I guess the odds are still on the bitch, but if Leicester can will the league then anything is possible. Of course, then the world has to deal with him.
He can't be any worse than George Dubya Chimp, can he, Cheney, Haliburton, 9/11 and Iraq, Enron and the Great TitsUp, even zgeorge Senior says his son is an asshole, a coke- snorting, draft-dodging, pisshead wifebeater. How can Trump be worse than that?
I hope you're right, and he pisses caustic soda up Clinton's arse until it comes out of her ears. The Feds, too, may yet bust her over the email scandal. It's wee Nicola Moustache stamping her feet that I'm lookimg forward to. See me, Ah'm nay feart a Uncle Sam, bring it on, big man.
I'll be off to vote for the local dogshooter in a while. It's him or the Tribesmen, I'm afraid.
Hard to imagine worse, but we are on a parabola trending down, fast. In my bones I feel there is a big event looming - financial crash, probably, but could be war.
Not much choice you have up there, Mr I; the lesser of 2 weevils doesn't do that justice.
mr ish,SNPs occur normally throughout a person’s DNA. They occur once in every 300 nucleotides on average, which means there are roughly 10 million SNPs in the human genome.
anyway its wonderful to have you back
sorry! a crap attempt at humour
Yes Mr I and Mr Mike, working out which is the lesser of the evils has been getting more difficult for some time now. However, in the US the choice is more obvious - anyone but Hillary!...
LibDems have held Orkney! Is that good?
Yes, very good, mrs n. See further on up the road.
Many of us feel like that, mr mike, that the best of days are gone, that the boomers had the best of it - cheap energy, free, maintained higher education, available housing, full employment, leisure, safe streets.
Such a shame that our successors, glued to their i-shit, colluide in their own dispossession. And when whatever happens happens, be it from the Orient, from Mecca, from Wall Street or the Bundesbank or whether we are just simply overrun, those to whom it should matter most are those least interested and least able to withstand it.
Sitting, Mongoose, not sat. "I am sitting" indicates that you are undertaking this action in the present. "I am sat" is most confusing and distressing to those of us who suffered aerial bombardment of blackboard rubbers, chalk and any other implements of rage and correction administered by Teacher. I am aware that the use of the past tense of the verb "to sit" in a context which is intended to be the present has become almost ubiquitous, but I consider it to be a new-fangled grammatical neologism which is to me quite distasteful. Ah, thus the language drifts and changes, and school children say that they cannot understand Shakespeare's language. I heard one child say "Shakespeare's dialect" which I believe to be an improvement.
Ah, nice to see you, mr gone but not forgotten, and I fear the blame, if there be any, lies with I, your correspondent, for mingling - or mingaling as the New People say, struggaling, juggaling, bubbaling and so on - colloquialism, cliche, solipsism, idiom, malapropism and slang with a more precise prose; it is a house style, so to speak, writing conversationally and therein none are gramatically perfect.
I have often noted my impatience with the Apostrophe Jihad - even though I am life-sworn to that banner - feeling that blowing a ship out of the water on account of a poorly scrubbed deck is excessive and counter-productive. In short, while I envy, applaud and encourage your diligence and rectitude, I feel, also, that we band of brothers, blitzed, in childhood, by chalk, textbook and blackboard rubber should exercise patience in the face of a momentary slip from sustained excellence in another's correspondence.
It was I, back in the glory days of Col. von Fawkes's order-order, initiated the use of the prefix mr to the often bizarre and unmisterly noms des plumes there emblazoned - thus mr ramalamadingdong, mr dick the prick, mr 45 govt. and so on, or ms/mrs, when appropriate - feeling that discussion would be elevated and regulated by the slightest, briefest expression of courtesy, this has been the only vague suggestion of a house rule - that we differ courteously, here, on the cyberstreet corner and save the round of fucks for the ruinous filthy vermin into whom it should properly be discharged and although I thank you for your correction I feel it to be in all our interests that mr mongoose be sat inside the tent and pisses out, as it were.
As I said, it is a pleasure to see you, after so long.
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